


I Am My Beloved's.

by warmommy



Category: Fury (2014)
Genre: Bible Quotes, F/M, Fluff and Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-10
Updated: 2018-01-10
Packaged: 2019-03-03 06:07:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,489
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13335060
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/warmommy/pseuds/warmommy
Summary: Boyd battles it out with atheist Reader, then proceeds to show her that prayer can be an intimate act, too.





	I Am My Beloved's.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! You can find this and a lot more at my tumblr, warmommy.tumblr.com!

The argument was intense, though quiet. Boyd mostly prided himself on being the kind of man that didn’t do any senseless bickering (except for Grady, but Grady could make a nun cuss). He lifted his helmet a bit to scratch an itch, got even more agitated, and threw the damn thing on the ground. 

“I can’t do this shit with you today,” he said at last. “There’s too much ridin’ and too much to do.”

The shell casing you held clattered against the bandolier in your lap. It was all you could do not to jump out of your seat and bust his nose open. “Then do what the fuck I told you and help me load these goddamn bullets.”

“Ain’t no cause for your blasphemy,” Boyd added to the already quite thick shitstorm a-brewin’. 

“Look me in the eyes, Swan,” you said quietly. It took a moment, but he did. “There is no God. We’re out here on our own and we’re all gonna die and that last moment is just that, the  _last moment_. You’re livin’ for dyin’ and all the rest of us are dyin’ just to  _live_. Now count what’s left in the goddamn ammo load, if you can’t do anything else.”

“Only you could say something like that, only you could say–” he cut himself off and went back to his counting. Then he stood to leave. “I can’t. Not today. I’ll send Don over and he can deal with you. You’re a holy fucking terror.”

“Goddamn it!” You stood, everything you’d been working on falling to the muddy earth now. You threw your hat down into your chair and glared at the man, hands on your hips. “ **Do you _ever_  follow directions?**”

He scoffed. “I follow orders from my tank commander, I don’t follow orders from you.”

“I never gave you orders. I asked if you ever follow  _directions_. It is within my purview to give you  _directions_.”

“Yeah? Well, I’m gonna give you some fuckin’ directions.” Boyd grabbed hold of your wrist and started walking for the trees. “C’mon.”

“You were the one saying there was too much to do–”

“Well, we got this to do, too. C’mon. Ain’t gonna be no mystery where we got off to, Grady can see where we’re going from where he is. He can hear what’s going on over here.”

“That’s not exactly comforting.”

“I don’t care.”

In the thicket, Boyd let go of you and leaned against a dead tree. “You got your gun, don’t you?”

“Yeah,” you responded.

“Good,” he said quietly. He remained where he was, rocking slightly on his feet, not ever looking at you, for a long while. Then, he did turn, and he didn’t look mad anymore. Not just sad, either. Sorrowful. Morose. “ **I tried my best to not feel anything for you.**  I tried and I tried.  **Guess what? I failed.**  No matter how awful you are, no matter what terrible things you say to me, about me, about my faith in Jesus,  **I can’t stop.”**

A pause. You crossed your arms and breathed in deep. “I don’t know what you want me to do about that.”

“Sometimes I wish you’d just go away,” he whispered.

“You mean die?”

“No!” He was reaching for you now, like he had to prove it, like he needed to touch you to be sure you were still living. “Of course not! I couldn’t stand it even if you did just go away, get rotated back to Payback, or Lucy Sue. I don’t want you to die, don’t  _say_ that about me. Don’t  _think_  that about me.”

You helped him close the gap between you. Your head under his chin, your cheek pressed right against his dog tags, you wound wisps of short, dark hair around your fingertips. You whispered to his throat. “I don’t, Bible. I really don’t.”

His hand closed around the tied-back queue of your hair at the back of your neck. “God tells me to love those that are different from me, to be full of love for them as He is for me. No matter how much you try to push me away and push God away, I love you. I  _love_  you.  _I love you_.”

Using those fingers still in his hair, you pulled him down and kissed him, your eyes closing so that you could just take it in. His fingers curled rhythmically against your neck, just a gentle rub. As it deepened past the point of any simple kiss the two of you had ever shared before, Boyd began to pull you down to the earth with him. Before you could ask or comment, he reached beneath your jacket to pull your shirt loose and shifted his hands up over your cool back. 

You paused for breath, still with your arms around his neck and the stubble on his cheeks against yours.

“I love you,” he said again.

He wasn’t discouraged, at least not physically, that you didn’t say it back. That was the most surprising part, when he took his jacket off to protect your head from the dirt. He moved you so that you were lying down on top of it, and you smirked lazily up at him. Boyd was removing his shirt.

“I thought you couldn’t fuck me because the man in the sky told you no,” you said.

“I’m not going to  _fuck_  you, and there’s a lot more about making love in the Bible than you know about.” He started unzipping and unbuttoning your layers with reverential hands. 

You had a problem with the term ‘making love’. You had a problem with the Bible, with Christianity, with organised religion, and its adherents. You felt almost like a devil, lying among the weeds, leading a sweet Christian boy astray. “Like what?”

He seemed to be having trouble speaking, having trouble speaking, but he spoke while wrestling your bra open.  _“How fair and pleasant you are, O loved one, delectable maiden! You are stately as a palm tree, and your breasts are like its clusters. I say I will climb the palm tree and lay hold of its branches. Oh, may your breasts be like clusters of the vine, and the scent of your breath like apples, and your kisses like the best wine that goes down smoothly, gliding over lips and teeth.”_

Your eyes widened up at the wide, blue sky. You groaned sharply, heavily when his lips smoothly glided over your pebbled nipple. “That was actually…oh… _Boyd_ …” Your body started moving however it needed to for more touch, for more of his mouth on your skin, his tongue and his teeth. 

“It’s okay, honey,” he whispered. He pulled his gun out of its holster and reached with utmost care over your head to leave it there. He placed your gun beside it, in your reach. “If someone comes up that ain’t friendly.”

Boyd pulled your legs apart and your fingernails burned identical tracks of red down his back. He was kissing you and breathing heavily when you felt the head of his cock move up and down between your legs, and then, with care, inside. You felt like a devil again, all fingernails and teeth and hips moving desperately to take him deeper, but Boyd, he was patient. He wanted this to be for love, too.

He was really damn good at playing that tune, too. No one had ever touched you like this. No one had ever kissed you like this. No one had ever whispered in your ear that it was okay, that you were loved. No one had ever taken his time with you before. Boyd was fingering the instrument of your body like it was the most familiar and comfortable thing he’d ever known.

No one had ever made you come where it didn’t feel like a crashing collision, before.

What Boyd did to you, what Boyd made you feel, it didn’t make you scream, but  _gasp_. You closed your eyes and tipped your head back, and it was like…some sort of sweet and slow sizzle, controlling your entire body. He shouted and shuddered to a halt. He said blasphemies of his own against your neck, panted there against your skin. It was you that was holding him, though.

“Boyd,” you whispered, feeling something deeply shaken within you, although you didn’t know what. You nudged him with your shoulder. “Boyd!”

He shushed you gently and stroked your face without ever moving his head. He was trying to catch his breath and be what you needed from him all at the same time. “It’s all right. It’s okay, sweetheart.”

Your voice was frantic. “How come?”

“‘Cause this war is gonna end soon, and I’m gonna marry you. That’s how come. Don’t you go arguing.”

For the time, under the delicious comfort of his weight, you let him be, let him think whatever he wanted to.


End file.
